


Might I Have a Bit of Earth

by theopteryx



Series: Space Pirates AU [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theopteryx/pseuds/theopteryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the no_tags challenge for the prompt of 'space pirates.' </p><p>Gerard took things. He didn’t used to take things; he used to ask before, say please and may I and other things his parents taught him, because that was what you did. You didn’t just take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might I Have a Bit of Earth

Gerard took things. He didn’t used to take things; he used to ask before, say _please_ and _may I_ and other things his parents taught him, because that was what you did. You didn’t just take. But then when Gerard was nine the universe took his parents in a docking accident and then a few years later it took his grandma, too, and as far as he could tell no one had ever asked him _please_ or _may I_ about it all. Gerard didn’t believe in asking anymore, but he believed in fair, and the universe had a lot to make up for. He was just helping to even the score.

Take until they don’t know what you actually have left to lose.

*

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Gerard wheezed, sliding down the wall until his ass hit the floor. They hadn’t hit him, just his gun, but the shot had busted the side so bad the plasma core was leaking all around the cracks and down his arms. Piece of _shit_. He tossed it to the ground. It burned like a _bitch_.

“Don’t die in the next five minutes please,” Mikey called out to him. He sounded bored, which just meant he was concentrating on something else. Gerard scrambled to his feet and jogged around the corner, where Mikey was on his knees behind the foreman’s desk, surrounded by books he’d apparently pulled off the little shelf shoved back against the wall.

“Like I would let you have fun without me, you fuck,” Gerard panted. “And seriously?”

“I know, they always hide them behind the books. Classics, too. Like that’ll make it less obvious. Nobody reads those, least of all these pricks,” Mikey said, shoving more books to the floor.

Someone banged against the door - not with fists, but with something metal, heavy. Gerard checked over his shoulder, but he’d shot the circuits out good, before they’d got him - the door should hold. If they didn’t knock it off the hinges.

“ _Ulysses_? Seriously?” Mikey said, staring at the book in his hand in disbelief.

“You don’t have to write a fucking book report, just -” Gerard said, almost drowned out by the sound of the banging.

Mikey just sighed and reached back into the bookcase, but this time when he leaned in about half of his body disappeared, like he was swallowed by the wall. There was a clunking noise, and the sound of metal sliding against metal, and when Mikey pulled back he had thick, bundled stacks of bank notes in his hands.

The door bulged with the next hit, creaking and splitting at the seams. Mikey just grinned. Gerard grabbed the gun from Mikey’s holster and turned to face the door. He could hear the Joes hollering on the other side, calling for reinforcements. When they made it through they’d be distracted, and if he didn’t miss, they’d be fine. Golden.

“You ready to make a dramatic exit?” He asked, revving up the gun.

“Fuckin’ ready,” Mikey said from behind him, and when the door finally gave way Gerard took the shot.

*

Gerard hated space. Some people thought it was soothing, all that quiet, but it always just seemed to make things louder, like there was more room for the noise to stretch out. He barely remembered living on the planets, anymore. When he managed to dream, though, he always dreamed of suns, so many they filled the sky, burning his skin until he crumbled and turned to ash. He always woke up sweating. It was the only time he was warm on these fucking ships.

He shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Mikey was passed out in the chair next to him, his body bent in weird ways to fit the lopsided seat. He’d always been good about sleeping anywhere, the fucker.

Gerard rubbed at his eyes and stared at the console. The ships the Joes were using had some crazy navigational system, totally different than the shit Gerard grew up on, but Gerard had taken enough of them over the years to figure them out. They just wanted to look complicated.

They had at least another few hours before they hit The Grit, and he wasn’t going to get any sleep this cycle. He left Mikey asleep in the chair but grabbed the bag by Mikey’s feet and set about sorting through it - singed in a few places where the Joes had got a few hits in on their way out, but mostly intact, and only some of the money’d been burned too much to use.

He paused. He hadn’t noticed back in the office, but Mikey’d nicked a couple of books from the foreman’s shelf. They were shoved at the bottom of the bag and one of them-- _The Secret Garden_ \--had a dark streak across the spine from one of the blasts.

Gerard awkwardly brushed some of the dirt off the front cover. There was a girl in red on the cover, almost completely faded away, and there was green all around her, practically choking the corners of the drawing. It was an old copy, and cracked when he opened it. It _smelled_ like a book, and Gerard had to resist pressing it against his face and just inhaling. He only vaguely remembered the story--something Elena had read to him, once, back when there were suns.

He had a lot of time to kill before they hit the airspace. Gerard couldn’t help but check over his shoulder before he wiped his palms on his pants and picked up the book and flipped to the first page.

*

Gerard and Mikey didn’t have a home, not anymore, but the Eastside of The Grit was probably as close as it came these days. It used to be a high-end work station before the workers all got laid off and shipped out, so mostly it was run over by bars and black market storefronts and plenty of places to get word on new jobs.

Although, as far as Mikey was concerned, all it needed was Alicia.

“I’m going to Smithee’s,” Mikey said, hoisting the bag higher over his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to come? Alicia gets off around twenty-two-thirty, I think.”

“Nah, I’m good, you guys go make eyes at each other. I’ve gotta get a new gun, anyway, and I gotta deal with the keep from the job. I’ll be over at Toro’s until late.”

Mikey gave him a little salute and headed off down the docking plank and into the main street. He’d nicked the books for Alicia, Gerard knew, because he knew she was soft for stuff like that. Gerard had almost wanted to ask to keep the garden book until he was done, but he’d kept his mouth shut and slipped it back into Mikey’s bag once they’d hit the airspace. She’d like the illustrations, and it was good that she made Mikey happy.

He re-shouldered his own bag, full of the money from the job, and headed out into the market. Getting a new, unregistered gun was easy, too easy those days, and he even had enough to spring for a model that had a cooling unit inside, not like his old one that used to blister his hands during extended gun fights.

He twirled it in his hands all the way over to Toro’s before shoving it in his holster and working his way through the door. Toro’s place was a complete shithole, but the music was good and the alcohol was _great_ and the tips on jobs were even better.

The place was almost completely empty at that point in the day, which suited Gerard just fine. He slid onto the last barstool at the end facing the door - always facing the door, no surprises - a couple of seats away from some dude who already looked like he’d passed out, face hidden by his crossed arms on the sticky counter. Someone had started early.

“Hey, man,” Toro said, coming around the back of the back of the bar and immediately pouring Gerard a drink. “Long time.”

Gerard nodded and kicked it back. He put the bag on the counter and pushed it towards Toro, who took it without blinking. Toro might have been a great bartender, but he was the best cleaner that side of Scruturna. Two cycles and no one would be able to trace those bills through the system.

“Gimme a sec, yeah?” He said, and disappeared into the back. One of the other bartenders came over to top off Gerard’s drink, and he zoned out staring at the lit up bottles of alcohol lining the back of the bar. Most of them didn’t even have labels anymore. They made their own shit.

Gerard used to make shit, he was pretty sure. Or maybe he used to want to. It didn’t really matter anymore. He took another swig.

He’d almost let himself relax--almost, so close, he should have known--when Mikey burst in through the doors, frantic. Which was strange, because Mikey was never frantic, not like that, not when Gerard was around.

“Gee,” he said, and his voice broke, and it never did that either. “She’s _gone_.”

“What?” Gerard said, and it sounded sluggish. He couldn’t be that drunk.

“She’s _gone_. I went to Smithee’s and they said she hasn’t been to work in three cycles, that--that she was on her way back from the Gruner colonies and then nothing--”

“I don’t--“ Gerard started, but he got it. It clicked. The path between the Gruner colonies and The Grit was rife with filth, and the kind of filth that would take over a passenger transport vessel without even a thought.

“They _took_ her, Gee,” Mikey said, barely above a whisper. They didn’t know what Mikey had to lose, but they’d taken it anyway. This one, though - this one Gerard could take back.

Gerard shoved back from the bar and got to his feet. Time to go.

*

They split as soon as they got outside of the bar, Mikey still clutching the sack with Alicia’s undelivered books inside to go start up the ship, and Gerard with as much of the turned over money as he could carry, the rest stashed with Toro. He was the closest thing they had to a bank, anyway.

Gerard wasn’t stupid enough to send them into the black between the Gruner and The Grit with no plan _and_ no supplies, but he hated the delay. They had to go now. He didn’t know if it was the press of time or him desperately trying to shake off the effects of the alcohol or what, but he felt unbalanced, harried. Like something was bearing down on him.

He checked over his shoulder out of habit, and listened for footsteps, but there was nothing. Just him, and the thudding of his own heart.

*

“From here -” Gerard said, sketching with the grease pencil over the map, “to here, to here, and here.”

Mikey put his head in his hands. “That’s so much space. That’s so much fucking _space_.”

Gerard wanted to sigh, to agree, but he held it in. “We’ll find her, Mikey.”

Mikey didn’t say anything, just sank down on the seat until his head rested on his crossed arms.

“I _promise_ ,” Gerard said, and he hoped he wasn’t lying.

*

Mikey spent most of his time in the cockpit, checking the maps, headphones firmly over his ears and plugged into the Joe’s high-frequency scanner, listening for anything out there in the dark.

There wasn’t a plan, just a cube marked on a map in grease pencil to point to the probability of where she might be, and a countdown to how much flying they could do on the fuel and food they had left. It didn’t look good, but they set a course anyway.

Gerard left Mikey in the cockpit--and Mikey’s tense shoulders, practically up around his ears--and went back to what looked to be the main bunk area of the ship. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in cycles, and he’d be useless if he didn’t do something about it.

There was an actual bed in the main cabin, not like the stretched cotton bunks shoved into the walls for the troops in the barracks on the other side of the ship. Gerard sunk down on the edge of the mattress and let out the sigh he’d been holding in the whole time.

He checked over his shoulder--but of course there was no one, Mikey wasn’t leaving the cockpit, he’d sleep in the chair--and then pulled the garden book out of his back pocket. He’d sneaked it out of Mikey’s bag when he was working with the high-frequency scanner. He wasn’t taking it. He’d give it back. But there was time, there, in the black, and he knew better than anybody what happened when he left his thoughts to themselves.

It was a strange little book, too, with lines he had to read quietly out loud to understand what they said, and full of words he didn’t understand - _cholera_ and _moor_ and _robin_ \--although he’d seen pictures of birds before, and remembered some from when he was little, but they were always dull and gray--and so much talk of running. Gerard couldn’t remember having space to run that wasn’t actually running away from something on a ship into the black.

He got to the part with the boy hidden behind the tapestry--that was another word, _tapestry_ , like a blanket or something, but big, maybe, even though it seemed like a waste to have a blanket just up on a wall--before exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep, still on top of the covers with the book on his chest.

*

He jerked awake, disoriented. It took him a second to realize why he’d startled, but there it was again, a slight noise from the hallway outside his room. He froze, then quickly and quietly got to his feet, hand on his gun.

He gently opened the sliding door of the room an inch to peer out, but saw nothing. The hallway was lit only by dim lights which signified that it was supposed to be time for sleeping, so the troops didn’t get off cycle.

 _Clang_.

Gerard held his breath. It wasn’t loud, but it was loud enough, erratic enough, to be something.

He inched out of the room and down the hall, towards where he’d heard it. He pulled his gun out and flipped it on, moving as quietly as he could on the metal grated floor.

 _Clang_.

There was an air duct in the wall down a ways, past the door to the stairs to the lower levels of the ship. Definitely from the air duct. It could be nothing. Or not. Gerard did a once over. It was the kind of duct that was shoved into place, not screwed in, so maintenance crews could have easier access.

 _Clang_.

Okay then. He grabbed the grating and yanked as hard as he could, tossing it to the ground before wheeling around to aim his gun into the dark.

Except it wasn’t dark. There was a boy inside. And he was blinking at Gerard, pale palms up in defense.

“Uh, hi,” the boy said, when Gerard didn’t move or lower his gun. “I...appear to be stuck in your air duct. Please don’t shoot me.”

Gerard still didn’t lower the gun. “Who the fuck are _you_ ,” he finally managed.

“I’m Frank,” he said, smiling. “Who the fuck are _you_?”

*

“What the fuck are we going to do with him?” Mikey asked, staring at the boy, at Frank, where they’d tied him to a chair in the kitchen. He wasn’t actually as young as Gerard had originally thought, more around Mikey’s age, but he was covered in grease and carbon and was a wiry little thing.

“I say shoot him out the airlock,” Gerard said, leaning back against the counter.

“You can’t shoot me out the airlock,” Frank said, frowning.

“Why the fuck not?” Gerard said.

“You would shoot this face out of an airlock? Really?” Frank said. “Seriously? You would do that? To this face?”

“If it would get you to shut the fuck up, then yes,” Gerard said. “Let me remind you that you snuck onto _our_ ship--”

“Technically it’s not really _your_ ship, is it,” Frank said, nonchalantly. “Because you two are the least convincing pair of Joes I’ve ever seen. But I’m sure the troops would love to hear about their missing ship--“

“Is this supposed to convince us _not_ to shoot you out the airlock? Because it’s not working,” Gerard said, straightening up, and Frank looked noticeably more panicked.

“Okay, look, fine, okay, you’re right! I snuck onto your ship! I needed a ride.”

“To where?” Mikey asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, _technically_ \--” Frank started, but Gerard cut him off.

“Away from _what_?”

Frank hesitated, and looked down at his boots. “I got drafted to work the Thistle colonies.”

Mikey let out a low whistle. The Thistle colonies were rough. Really rough. You only ended up there if nobody cared if you came back.

Gerard was silent. Frank could be lying. He didn’t look like a Joe, though, even an undercover one. He was too wiry, too hard around the eyes, the kind you only got from growing out there in the black. He stared at Frank, and Frank stared back, unblinking.

“Fine. He doesn’t go out the airlock. But you’re staying tied to the chair,” Gerard said, finally, and Frank’s face broke into a grin.

“You are _not_ going to regret your decision, Captain,” Frank said, and leaned back in the chair until the front legs were off the ground, practically stretching.

Gerard just pointed at him with the gun. “Call me Captain again and you will.”

Frank’s chair fell forward with a hard clang, his face pale, and Gerard turned away and went back to the cockpit to check their position. He wished the star maps could tell them they were going the right way, that there was _something_ out there to head towards, but it was still black, all black, with tiny ripples of green whenever star pulses hit the radar.

Mikey slid back into his chair beside him, hesitating a minute with the headphones in his hands. Gerard could hear the white noise humming from them. Still nothing. “You think that was the right choice?” he asked, voice quiet.

“I don’t know,” Gerard said, not looking away from the map. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough, one way or the other.”

*

“Captain!”

“Oh Captain!”

“Oh Captain, my Captain!”

Gerard rolled over onto his stomach on the mattress and groaned. He heaved himself to his feet and grabbed his gun on the way out of the door and back towards the kitchen. He considered it a success that he didn’t kick down the door, really.

“I told you not fucking _call_ me that,” he said, but Frank just rocked back and forth in the chair until it almost toppled over.

“I don’t care, you can shoot me in the face after but oh my God I have to piss so bad,” Frank said, practically wriggling in the seat and jerking in the restraints.

Gerard paused. “Seriously?”

“Yes seriously, you fuck! _Please_ ,” Frank said, “before I piss my pants and make this real awkward for everybody.”

Gerard shoved the barrel of the gun up against the nape of Frank’s neck as he messed with the restraints at the back of the chair. “Fine. But if you do anything stupid I will -”

“Shoot me out the airlock, I know, come _on_ ,” Frank said, jiggling his wrists. Finally they slid loose and Gerard grabbed the back of Frank’s collar and led him down the hallway towards the bathroom.

He hit the button for the door and shoved Frank inside first, then followed right behind.

“Seriously? You’re going to watch me piss?” Frank said.

“I’m not _enjoying_ it, but it’s either this or I leave you in the chair,” Gerard said, leaning against the tiny metal sink. He stared straight ahead at the corrugated pattern of the wall, determinedly not looking to the side.

He heard Frank undo his belt and zipper, and then the slight pause before he started to piss. Gerard kept staring at the wall.

“You don’t take many prisoners, do you,” Frank said.

“Could you finish before you start talking to me? It’s weird,” Gerard said, resisting the urge to cross his arms.

“You’re the one in the room with me! I thought you maybe wanted to make conversation or something,” Frank said, a little sullenly. He didn’t say anything else, just finished and zipped up, and Gerard had never been more relieved. He and Mikey had to be in close quarters before, all the time, but they were brothers. This was different.

Gerard led Frank back to the kitchen, retied him to the chair, and left him without a word, but at least made sure to turn the light off when he left this time.

*

Time was warped out in the dark. It folded in and out and all over again and it made Gerard crazy, really fucking crazy sometimes. The lights they used in ships to tell when to sleep or be awake didn’t mean a god damned thing, not to him, and most of the time he just stared out into the black until he couldn’t tell if he had his eyes open or not.

They’d been looking for Alicia for cycles upon cycles, or maybe it had only been a few. They ran together until they didn’t mean anything, just one, long, endless night. The only way Gerard could tell the passage of time after a while was to watch the curve of Mikey’s back, how he held his head, how dark the circles under his eyes got.

They scratched through the parts of the cube on the map they’d already hit, and sometimes Gerard walked into the cockpit to see Mikey hunched over, determinedly redarkening the patches with the grease pencil. It wasn’t enough.

Gerard started avoiding the cockpit. Guilt twisted in his stomach, deep and sick, but he couldn’t watch Mikey fall apart. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing _they_ could do, except keep scanning the frequencies and wait. Mikey was practically silent. He slept with the headphones on.

At the other end of the ship, away from the dark, cold cockpit, the reminder of how he’d failed Mikey, maybe completely this time, was the kitchen. The kitchen with its clean steel appliances and military-approved soothing green walls and Frank, still tied to that damned chair, who still smiled at him a little every time he came in.

At first Gerard came in just twice a day - he didn’t want Frank to _starve_ , for fuck’s sake, and he’d untie him and watch him eat and then take him to the bathroom and that would be it, he’d tie him back up and then he’d leave and they wouldn’t have said a word, not after the first day’s awkward exchange in the bathroom (Gerard stood in the hallway after that, anyway, as much to give Frank a little more privacy than to avoid more conversation while Frank had his hands on his dick, _seriously_ ). Gerard wandered the halls of the ship, checked to see if there was anything to repair, checked in on Mikey, checked the engine, checked the circuits, checked the frequencies, and ended back in his room, alone.

It was a few cycles later, though, that Gerard realized that he was on a ship with two other people and no one had spoken out loud in _cycles_ , and it made Gerard’s skin itch suddenly, like he was getting pulled into the vacuum just outside the sealed walls. And there was still someone on this ship who _wanted_ to talk to him.

*

“Why did you get drafted for the Thistle colonies?” Gerard asked, and it sounded awkward and abrupt, like he’d forgotten how to speak out loud. Or to talk to other people. He probably had. He’d only really ever talked to Mikey, and they already knew everything about each other.

Frank paused, his spoon frozen almost to his open mouth. “What?” he asked, lowering it back to the bowl.

Gerard shifted his weight against the counter, put the gun down so it was easier to cross his arms. “The Thistle colonies. Nobody gets sent there unless there’s no other option. What happened?”

Frank shrugged. “My parents had debts.”

“What?” Gerard said. “But that’s--”

“Illegal? Yeah, ‘cause nobody does illegal shit anymore,” Frank said, taking a spoonful of soup. He spilled a little of it on the table but didn’t move to wipe it up.

“ _Wrong_ ,” Gerard said. “That’s not -- that’s not fair.” Gerard barely remembered his parents but he remembered the important parts, the way they cared. Patched him up when he got hurt. They’d never have done that.

“Yeah, well, fair is shit, so,” Frank said, dropping the spoon into the bowl and pushing it away from him. “I’m done.”

Gerard felt chastised, off-balance, which was stupid because Frank was his prisoner. He’d snuck onto _his_ ship. He didn’t get to make Gerard feel bad. Gerard got enough of that, anyway. He tied Frank back to the chair, dumped his dishes in the sink, and went straight back to his room, not even checking to see if Mikey was still hunched over the scanner.

*

“Look,” Gerard started. “I’m only going to say this once, but -- I’m sorry.”

Frank, to his credit, didn’t ask what he was talking about. There was a pause. “Don’t apologize much, either, do you,” he said, his voice slightly muffled through the door of the bathroom.

“I’m not usually sorry,” Gerard said, which was true. He waited a second for Frank to get himself together and then punched the button to open the door. Frank was methodically washing his hands and didn’t look over.

“Well, I don’t usually accept apologies,” Frank said, but he smiled a little, just at the corner of his mouth, and Gerard knew that was true, too.

*

“My turn,” Frank said, leaning back in the chair, making the rungs creak. Gerard hated when he did that.

“Your turn for what?” he asked, picking at his rehydrated stew. He’d waited until Frank had eaten and he’d retied him to the chair before he’d started in on his own food, so he at least maintained the illusion that his guard wasn’t slipping. The gun on the counter was still pointed in Frank’s direction.

“To ask you something,” Frank said.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how this works,” Gerard said.

Frank let the chair drop down to the floor with a sigh, and Gerard hated when he did that too. “I am so fucking bored I could claw my face off, and don’t tell me you’re not feeling the same.”

Gerard wasn’t bored. He had so many thoughts running around all the time in his head that he wanted to claw his face off sometimes, but he figured Frank’s way was easier.

“Fine,” Gerard said. “But I’m not answering what I don’t want to.”

“Deal,” Frank said, his face breaking into a grin for the first time in cycles. “What the fuck are you guys looking for?”

Gerard blanched. He thought of Mikey, still in the cockpit, gripping that grease pencil. Alicia wasn’t his secret to tell. “Pass.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Frank said, arching back in the chair.

“ _Pass_ ,” Gerard said, taking another bite of stew.

Frank sighed. “God, you _suck_ at this. Fine. Easy one. What’s your fucking _name_?”

Gerard blanked. “I-”

“If you don’t tell me this one I swear I will piss in your stew, I swear - “

“Gerard,” he said, and Frank froze, apparently completely shocked that he’d actually answered. Gerard was shocked that he’d answered too, and immediately wished he could reach out, take it back, hide it away. Gerard didn’t own anything these days. You didn’t just give shit like that away.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Gerard,” Frank said. “I’d shake your hand but I’m still tied to a chair.”

Gerard just nodded silently and pushed the muddy stew around with his spoon.

*

Mikey was slumped over the controls when he got in later that cycle, and something in Gerard’s chest stopped - but then he saw the rise and fall of Mikey’s back. Just sleeping. He was fine.

He didn’t want to wake him, but--it’d been a while. He touched lightly at his back and Mikey jerked up.

“Mikey, hey, it’s me,” he said, while Mikey just blinked at the controls, orienting himself. He rubbed at his eyes.

“How long have I been out?” he asked, and Gerard felt guilty that he didn’t know.

“Not too long. How about you grab a shower and I’ll watch for a bit, okay?” he said, and Mikey looked like he was going to protest, but with a little duck of his head he slid the headphones off and pushed out of the chair.

Gerard slid into the seat and pushed the headphones on, adjusting the band on top. Still white noise, barely even that, even though Mikey had it cranked up as high as it would go. It was amazing, sometimes how the emptiness almost seemed to have a sound. Of just - nothing. And everything.

The cube of space on the grease pencil map was partially filled in, with notations in Mikey’s jagged scrawl about transmissions he’d tracked, or leads he’d caught. It was depressingly bare. They were running out of time, of supplies--especially with another mouth to feed, and his stomach flipped over at that, too.

No. He couldn’t think about anything else right now. He had to listen. He zoned in to the noise until Mikey came back a little while later, hair still wet from the shower, and Gerard handed the headphones silently back over.

*

“You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious!”

“ _Rats_?”

“They make great pets.”

“They’re _dirty_.”

“That’s not _their_ fault,” Frank said, sniffling a little. “They’re fucking smart, too.”

Gerard shuddered and kicked his heels a little against the counter. “Nasty.”

“Well excuse _me_ ,” Frank said, loftily, “some of us didn’t have little brothers to follow us around, we had to make our _own_ fun.”

Gerard stopped laughing. He hadn’t told Frank anything about Mikey. Frank hadn’t even seen him except that first day, when they were deciding his fate. But even that was enough for him to know, and something about that was terrifying. It was easier when people didn’t know they were related. Safer.

“Gerard--” Frank said, apparently aware he’d said something, and seemed strangely worried about it.

“I don’t make him follow me around,” Gerard said, staring down at his hands. His fingernails were filthy with carbon from where he’d been fucking around with some circuits earlier.

“Of course you don’t _make_ him, you idiot,” Frank said, rolling his eyes. “That’s part of the whole brother _thing_ , as far as I’ve been told by popular media. That’s family.”

Gerard paused. He was worried about bringing it up again, but fuck it, he was still technically in charge here. “Do you have any other family? Besides--”

“Besides the ones that tried to use me as collateral for their own shitty financial decisions?” Frank asked, shifting back in his seat. He sniffed a little. “Not that I know or care to think about, really. But don’t you worry about me, now. You get back on that ‘wrong’ or ‘fair’ shit and I’ll kick you in the face.”

“From all the way over there?” Gerard asked. “I don’t think your legs can go that far.”

“Are you calling me short? Man, fuck you, it’s because you’ve got me sitting down all cycle and you have to go be an asshole and sit up on the counter,” Frank said, grinning and stretching out on the chair, his arms almost ramrod straight down to the ground, legs out in front. His shirt slid up enough to show a slice of skin, and there were tattoos there - Gerard had seen hints of them, hidden by his hair and the collar of his jacket, and a few on his hands, but there were _more_ , something hidden there. Gerard rubbed again at his dirty fingernails.

“You smell like shit,” Gerard said. “How long have you been wearing those clothes?”

“Does it look like I packed heavy for this trip?” Frank said, shrugging. “But dude, seriously, quick scrub downs in that bathroom sink aren’t going to cut it, unless you’re down with me smelling up the whole side of this ship.”

Gerard nodded. “Give me a sec,” he said, and disappeared back into the hallway. He and Mikey didn’t have hardly anything with them, either, so used to packing light, and nothing they did have would have fit Frank either. But this was a Joe ship, there had to be extra supplies around. He rooted through a few of the upper crawl spaces before he found the sealed packs of uniforms and ripped them open, grabbing the stuff that looked like it’d fit Frank.

He ripped open a couple of the aid kits up there to get at their soap, and found they had stashes of shit too - toothbrushes, instead of just the usual dehydrated crap they kept in the bathrooms you had to rub all over your teeth, and old-school razors. His hand hesitated over one of them, considering, but he grabbed that too and slid back out of the crawl space.

Frank practically skipped down the hall toward the bathroom. The bathroom Gerard’d been taking him to was the one the cooks used, normally, just off the kitchen, but there wasn’t any shower in there. And he couldn’t take him to the bathrooms off his or Mikey’s rooms. He didn’t exactly want Frank to know where they slept, yet.

But the bunks had a huge communal shower set up, with scattered chest-high tiled partitions, and Gerard manoeuvred Frank to stand behind one. He undid the restraints and Frank rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, already looking happier.

“Alright, you’ve got your soap--” Gerard started, moving to the other side of the partition and pulling the bar out to place it on top of the tile. As soon as he started talking Frank yanked at his jacket, pulling it off and tossing it over the barrier so it landed by Gerard’s feet.

“Uh, it’s kind of shitty, but it’ll work for pretty much everything. And, uh--” he said, but Frank was already shucking off his t-shirt, throwing it over the partition to land on the ground by his shirt. Gerard blinked at it.

“I know how soap works,” Frank said, not stopping, yanking at his belt. “I actually _like_ showers. When’s the last time you showered?”

“Irrelevant,” Gerard said, pulling the toothbrush out and lining it up next to the soap.

“Totally relevant, since I have to smell your sorry ass every day,” Frank said, and Gerard concentrated on getting the razor out and lined up while Frank worked on his pants.

“You are the worst prisoner ever,” Gerard said.

“Yeah, well, that was sort of what got me on your ship in the first place, wasn’t it,” Frank said. He threw his pants over the wall and immediately cranked on the water, ducking his head under the spray.

Gerard pressed back against the tile wall and tried to stare straight ahead, arms folded over the stolen uniform pressed to his chest. The wall came up to about mid-chest but that was still more than enough room to see that Frank was covered, absolutely _covered_ in tattoos. Gerard had always been fascinated with the idea, even if the idea was an impossibility for himself. Needles fucking sucked, for sure, but the truth of it was that in his line of work, it didn’t pay to give them something to use to pull you out of the line-up. Frank, though, had lines all over, words and pictures all mashed together.

“You like tattoos?” Frank said, and Gerard jerked his head up. He was staring at him, water pressing his hair into his eyes, running down his neck. Gerard shifted uncomfortably.

“I like drawings,” he admitted. Frank nodded and smiled a little, like that answered some other kind of question, and ducked back under the spray.

*

“ _Fuck_ , yes, fucking do it,” Frank gasped, and Gerard shoved harder, _deeper_ , until Frank moaned, slamming his head back against the wall, his wet hair sticking to the tile. Frank scrambled above him until he grasped the shower head, lifting himself up, and his arms were straining, practically vibrating with the motion, and Gerard had to push forward to bite down on the tendon that stood out on side of Frank’s neck.

Gerard’s boots slid back and forth on the damp floor but he didn’t fucking care, he kept fucking Frank, and Frank held himself up, stretched out, like he was ready for this, from the beginning, and Gerard’d been ready for this for who knows how fucking long - _too long_ \- it’s been too long, and there was Frank, with his tattoos and his red flushed chest and his hard dick rutting up against the soaked front of Gerard’s shirt.

“Fuck, Frank,” Gerard said, and jerked forward again. It was already building in his body, in his blood, he could feel it, it was too much, and he wasn’t going to have a chance--

“You better fucking come inside me, you fuck,” Frank said, hitching his hips forward, gasping, practically _snarling_ , and Gerard was, it was right there, oh god, oh fuck--

Gerard gasped awake and immediately jerked up, but--no. No, he was just--he was in his room. There was nobody there. Frank was back in the kitchen, tied to the chair, like always, like he’d left him after he brought him back from the shower. Hours ago.

Gerard stripped his shorts off and tossed them angrily in the corner. The _fuck_ , like he needed another reminder that he was fucked up. _Jesus_.

He sprawled back on the mattress and fixed the covers a little, so they weren’t so tangled up by his feet, and sighed up at the ceiling. It figured that the first dream he had in ages that wasn’t about being burned up by suns still left his skin humming with sweat.

*

He couldn’t fall back asleep after that, not a chance, so he got dressed – after taking a completely efficient shower in his own bathroom, hands barely touching his dick, which meant nothing, but whatever – and went to check on Mikey.

Mikey was awake when he got in, still hunched over the control panels. He fiddled with the high-frequency scanner’s knobs, turning them slowly this way and that. The grease pencil was almost completely worn down to the nub. Gerard didn’t have to look at the charts or inventories to know how close they were coming to the point where they couldn’t go any farther.

Gerard crossed his arms across his chest. “Hey, man,” he said, completely ineffectually.

Mikey didn’t say anything.

Gerard took another step forward. It felt awkward. It never felt awkward between them. There’d been no reason to feel awkward between them before. Gerard didn’t know what was happening, how the space was fucking everything up, running Mikey down. He didn't know how to fix it.

“Mikey, look, I--“ Gerard started, then stopped.

“If you came in here to tell me to give it a rest, you can just go fuck yourself,” Mikey said, not turning around.

“What?” Gerard said, stunned into place.

“I know you don’t really care about finding Alicia but you could at least hide it a little better,” Mikey said, still in that same tone of voice, still fiddling slowly with the controls.

“What the fuck, Mikey,” Gerard said. “Of course I want to find Alicia, what the fuck.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mikey said.

Gerard tried to remember that Mikey was stressed. That he was sad, that they’d been too long in the black without a break, that Mikey was on the edge of losing it, of losing Alicia, that it’d been too long without a real sleep for either of them. It didn’t work. Gerard just felt himself fracture, a little, right along the seams.

“You’re tired. Maybe you should just give it a break,” he said, but Mikey cut him off, shaking his head.

“Why don’t you just go back to the kitchen, Gee,” Mikey said.

Gerard didn’t know what else to do, what else to say, so he turned on his heel and left.

*

“Good _morning_ , sunshine!” Frank said cheerily when he entered the kitchen. “Or goodnight, sunshine, who the fuck actually knows anymore, but I always thought it was cute--“

Gerard immediately dropped to his knees in front of Frank’s chair, and Frank stopped, stunned. Good. It was good to see someone else off-balance again. Like old times.

“I want to blow you. Can I blow you?” Gerard said.

Frank stared at him. “Is this some good cop bad cop shit you’re trying to pull?”

“No,” Gerard said, which was true.

“Because I won’t owe you shit,” Frank said, “but if you just really want to blow me, then I really don’t understand why still talking, here.”

That was all Gerard needed. He yanked at Frank’s belt, tossing it to the floor, and immediately pulled Frank’s pants down his hips, jerking his ass off the chair to get them down and around his thighs.

Frank was half-hard already, just staring at Gerard’s face, and Gerard took his dick and started pumping it in his hand. Frank’s boots slid on the tiled floor, looking for traction, but he just slid down farther in the chair until Gerard hooked an arm under his leg to keep him in place.

He had tattoos on his hips, his upper thighs, everywhere, _everywhere_.

“Jesus Christ, _somebody_ had a good night’s sleep,” Frank gasped, and Gerard immediately leaned down and took his dick into his mouth, sucking deep, running his tongue all over the head.

Frank didn’t say anything after that, not actual words, at least, and Gerard noted that he’d finally figured a way to make Frank shut the fuck up. Frank groaned again, bucking up, and it was so weird to be doing this now, in the morning, in the harsh lights of the kitchen, to _Frank_ , but all it did was make Gerard harder, swallow deeper.

When Frank came he came without warning, just a stuttering curse and a snap of his hips. Gerard pulled back quickly, but not fast enough, and some of it smeared on his cheek, across his mouth. He palmed at himself quickly, shoving his hand under his waistband to get on his own dick, and came fast, other arm still wrapped around Frank’s hips.

Frank just stared down at him, flushed and breathless. “Mother _fuck_ ,” he said, voice wrecked, and Gerard had to agree.

*

“What’s this?” Frank asked, when they stopped outside one of the Joe’s bunking rooms.

“It’s a bunk,” Gerard said.

Frank rolled his eyes. “No, I know it’s a bunk, but why are we _here_ ,” he said. It was a fair enough question--Gerard had taken him to the bathroom to get cleaned up, after he’d pulled Frank’s pants back up and untied him (there were red marks around his wrists from how hard he’d been pulling against them, and Gerard had wanted to touch them, to see if they were warm, but that was fucked, so he didn’t) but after that instead of going back to the kitchen they’d ended up at the barracks.

“Wouldn’t you rather sleep here?” Gerard asked, motioning with his head. Frank stared into the small room, then back at Gerard, face blank.

“I don’t understand.”

Gerard frowned. “What don’t you understand?”

“I told you I don’t owe you shit,” Frank said. “But you don’t owe me shit either.”

“This is not some weird _barter_ , here, okay, I just--“

“Seriously, just tell me what the deal is,” Frank said, getting weirdly tense.

“Uh, well, maybe I just feel a little weird about blowing you and then tying you back up to a chair, is all,” Gerard said, frowning. It was true. He did feel weird about it.

“Maybe I _like_ being tied to chairs,” Frank said, huffing a little.

“Don’t--don’t--are you flirting? Is that what this is?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to do that? How about, I just, I don’t know, _blow you in the kitchen before breakfast_ , how about that? Because that’s a total normal way to start things off,” Frank said, practically hissing.

“I’m not _pulling_ anything, Jesus!” Gerard said. “Look, you haven’t tried to kill us yet, and if you do I could take you, and you know that too. And I fucking feel bad keeping you tied to a chair, okay? Look, if it makes you feel better,” he said, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out the little mainframe keypad, “this lets me set the locks in this place, and you still can’t get anywhere in this place if I’m not with you.”

Frank eyed it. “So…”

“Bathroom, bunks, hallway, kitchen. Don’t even _think_ about going in the cockpit or I will end you, so help me,” Gerard said, and shoved the keypad pack in his pocket.

He turned to walk away and Frank followed a few steps before stopping himself, apparently out of habit. “Where are you--”

“Around, Frank. I’ll be back later, I have to go check on some things,” Gerard said, not turning back. Frank stopped, looking oddly lost in the middle of the hallway, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. _Finally_ , Gerard thought, a little meanly, _he’s caught up with the rest of us_.

He locked the door to the hallway behind him and headed towards the cockpit. Mikey didn’t turn around when he came in, but his shoulders dropped slightly, and Gerard sat down in the co-pilot’s chair. There was nothing for him to listen to, nothing for him to do, but he sat, just to the side of Mikey’s vision, and waited, just in case.

*

He hadn’t actually picked up Alicia’s book again--that’s how he thought of it, _Alicia’s book_ , it wasn’t his to keep--since the night he’d found Frank in the air duct. He was worried finishing it would mean something he didn’t want it to, so he’d kept it tucked safely up on the ledge above his bed.

At the end of that cycle, though, after he’d touched Mikey gently on the back and headed back to his room, he was the kind of exhausted where his body just _hummed_ with it, and he found himself curled up on top of his covers, boots off, thumbing to the place he’d left off. He wonder how Mary would have reacted to find a foul-mouthed Frank behind her stupid tapestry instead of some obnoxious little sick kid, and he couldn’t help but smile a little.

It was a fast read, with wide spaces between the lines and big text, and too soon he was just about to the end. People still grew flowers and things, out on the bases, but they were in regulated greenhouses, in manufactured rows. Nothing wild. It seemed almost like a waste, a _luxury_ , to have that kind of land. To have any kind of land under your feet.

He almost didn’t hear the knocking at his door it was so quiet, and he definitely would have missed it if he’d been asleep. Something inside his gut panicked, and he was at the door in a second, rolling it open.

“Mikey, what--“ he started, then froze.

Frank stood in the hallway. His feet were bare. He stared at Gerard, but said nothing.

“Frank?” Gerard said. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t look hurt, just a little dazed.

He made to step out of his room into the hallway but Frank put out a hand and stopped him, pushing him back into the room. He kept pushing until Gerard’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and he sat down, and kept pushing until Gerard fell back, his elbows keeping him up enough to watch Frank, still standing at the end of the bed.

Gerard was sure he was dreaming. But it wasn’t like before, when it’d been fake, sharp-bright in the bathroom. Time was folding in on itself right there, right between them, until it seemed like it all stopped on a point.

Gerard couldn’t think of anything to say. It was eaten up by the room like a black hole, sucked away until he couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t do anything but watch the way Frank stripped his shirt off, undid his belt, kicked his pants off until he was completely naked in front of him. Gerard was almost panting, seeing all of Frank in front of him like that – black smudges all over him, everywhere, black lines and pictures mashed together and mixing with the shadows from the dim lights.

Frank crawled up over him and straddled his hips, not resting down, and Gerard resisted the urge to buck. Frank pulled his sleep pants down and off, and Gerard let him pull his shirt up off over his head, and never broke eye contact, just watched, waited.

Frank seemed like he was waiting for something, too, but when his hand brushed up the side of Gerard’s chest when he pulled up his shirt and Gerard gasped, that seemed to be it, and after that it wasn’t slow at all. Frank practically lunged forward, shoving him back into the headboard of the bed, and Gerard writhed up against him.

Gerard yanked him down into a kiss and Frank kissed back, hard, practically biting his lip enough to bleed, and Gerard moaned. Frank broke the kiss and Gerard tugged at his hair, trying to bring him back down, but Frank just pulled back and grabbed Gerard’s hand, sucking his fingers into his mouth.

 _Fuck_ , oh fuck they were--he was--

Gerard couldn’t even follow anymore, his brain was two steps behind, but Frank was guiding his hand down, between his thighs, and then Frank was moaning, and Gerard pressed harder, pressed _in_ , and Frank arched back, but fucked himself harder on Gerard’s hand, and Gerard slipped in another finger. He didn’t have anything to use, he couldn’t fuck Frank on just spit, but Frank didn’t seem to fucking care, he just kept fucking himself on Gerard’s hand.

It was a weird angle and Gerard’s wrist was starting to ache so he bucked up and used the motion to flip them until he was on top, but Frank didn’t even seem to care, just writhed it out, neck stretched, and there was sweat at his hairline and at the base of his neck, and Gerard mouthed at it while he pushed deeper.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Frank cried, and it was the first thing he’d said since he got there, and then he was arching up and coming, moaning through the whole thing, totally fucking wrecked. Gerard hadn’t even touched his dick. He’d barely pulled his hand out and wiped it on the bedsheet when Frank pushed at him, sending him toppling over, and the next thing he knew Frank was over him, his mouth on his cock, sucking hard.

“Jesus Christ,” Gerard said, but it was all he could manage as Frank pulled the orgasm out of him until he couldn't even control his body, was practically fucking Frank's face. When he came Frank didn’t pull off, just swallowed it all, and even in the dark Gerard could see his mouth was used, fucked, raw.

“Fuck,” he managed, before sprawling back on the bed. Fuck. He sensed Frank laying down next to him, but he couldn’t even look over at him, couldn’t even _move_. _Fuck_.

*

When Gerard woke up he was disoriented, just for a second--there was a weight on the mattress beside him, and when he looked down there was an arm slung over his waist. Frank. Frank was there. Frank had showed up in the middle of the night and hadn’t even said a word, just let Gerard fuck him, _wanted_ him to fuck him, sucked his fingers and fucked his hand and sucked his cock. And it was the morning. He’d stayed.

He was still sleeping next to him, too, dark hair spread out all over the thin pillow, mouth slightly open. What the fuck was going on. What the _fuck_.

He thought about getting out of bed and escaping to the kitchen, maybe, or back to the cockpit, but both ideas seemed like too much. They were too cold, now, and he’d woken up warm. He settled back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, and listened to the hum of the ship.

The next time he opened his eyes Frank was awake, propped up in the bed, looking down at him.

“You snore,” he said, smiling a little. He flipped a page in his book--not his book, _Alicia’s_ book--and Gerard scrambled up immediately, snatching it out of his hands.

“Don’t--that’s not--“ he said, but Frank just held his palms up.

“Sorry, I’m sorry--I was just looking for something to read until you woke up. I like that one,” Frank said.

Gerard stared at him, and then down at the book. “You’ve read this one?”

Frank shrugged. “No siblings, remember? I liked books.”

Gerard thumbed gently over the faded gold imprinted on the edges of the paper. “It’s just--I’m sorry. It’s not mine. I’m just--keeping it for someone.”

Frank nodded, and didn’t ask anything about it. Gerard was too grateful to say, but the moment from before, when he’d woken up with Frank’s arm over his waist, was gone. He tried not to fidget with the book. He didn’t want to bend it.

“Come on,” Frank said, moving towards the edge of the bed. “I’m starving. And I can rehydrate some eggs like a motherfucking _champ_.” He started pulling his clothes back on and Gerard followed.

Something wasn’t right, though. Something in his gut was off. Gerard pulled on his pants and ran a thumb over the mainframe keyboard that was still safely buttoned into the pocket, untouched. The door between the halls should have been locked.

“Frank,” Gerard started, and Frank turned to him, his hair messed up from yanking his shirt back on.

“Yeah?”

“How’d you get into this hall?”

Frank frowned at him, like it was obvious. “You didn’t lock the door.”

Gerard opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and shook his head. “Yeah, sure, breakfast. I think there’s still some of that instant coffee shit under the cabinets too,” he said, and got up, ignoring the things he couldn’t name.

*

They were on their second cups of the rehydrated shit the Joes like to pass off at coffee when Mikey burst into the kitchen. He was clutching the grease pencil in his hand and there was a dark streak on his forehead.

“What--“ Gerard started, but he didn’t need to say anything. It was obvious.

“I think I found her,” Mikey said, and his voice just about cracked in half.

“Found who?” Frank said, looking between them.

Mikey completely ignored him, just turned to run back to the cockpit, and Gerard followed, almost toppling the kitchen chair with the motion.

“How!” Gerard cried out, bounding up the stairs after him.

Mikey slid into the chair and swiveled it back around, facing the controls. “Here,” he said, pointing to an unmarked space on the map. “I was doing rounds with the scanner, trying to pick up readings, and--and I found something, it’s a beeper from a mid-sized transport vessel, it’s her, I know it is, look--“

Gerard grabbed the headphones and pressed one of the speakers up to his ear. There it was, a signal, right in the middle of one of the only quadrants left on the grease pencil map. Jesus Christ, there was no way, no _way_.

“Did they respond?” Gerard asked, fidgeting with the controls, trying to get some sort of clearer reading.

“Yes, but only as an acknowledgement of our signal being received. They’re processing it now. Fuck, Gerard, I think it’s her, it’s gotta be her--“

“We’ll find out, we’ll get it,” Gerard mumbled, working more with the controls.

Mikey was practically bouncing in his seat. “Jesus, _Alicia_ \--“

“Alicia?” Frank said from behind them. Gerard turned to stare. Frank was at the doorway to the room, hand braced against the frame.

“You’re looking for a girl?” he said, and his voice sounded far off, unfocused.

“Alicia,” Mikey said, looking at him too.

“You can’t follow that signal,” Frank said, taking a step into the room.

They both stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” Gerard asked. “Of course we--”

Frank just shook his head. “You just--you can’t.”

Something rolled in Gerard’s gut. “Why,” he said, “can’t we follow the signal?”

“It’s just not a good idea,” Frank said. “You shouldn’t--“

“ _Why_ ,” Gerard said, practically gritting his teeth.

Frank sighed, dropping his shoulders. “Because they’re trying to catch you,” he said. “And they can’t. I won’t _let_ them.” There was something different about his face, hard, dark around the eyes.

“Why, Frank,” Gerard said, but it was low, practically swallowed up by the cold of the room between them.

It all happened in a flash--Frank grabbed Mikey’s gun off the counter--Gerard didn’t have his gun, he’d left in his room, _fuck_ , the _fuck_ \--and pointed it at the both of them.

“Because I caught you first,” he said, and switched the gun on.

*

“Uh, does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on right now,” Mikey said, staring at Frank. “Because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

“Frank, what the _fuck_ ,” Gerard said, hands out in front of him. He moved so he was mostly between the gun and Mikey, but Frank just swiveled around to keep them both in range.

“Don’t move,” he said, low. “I’m going to need both of you to follow me.”

“Frank, I told you I would fucking end you if you tried anything,” Gerard said, staring at him. “And I swear I will. I--”

“If you don’t want anything to happen to Mikey, then you’ll rethink that,” Frank said.

Gerard was numb all over. Things were whirring, but nothing was clicking, nothing made sense. “How did you know Mikey’s name? I never told you his name,” he managed.

Frank moved the gun to point at Mikey. “Michael James Way, born 2159,” he said, and then turned to Gerard, “Younger brother and known accomplice of Gerard Arthur Way, born 2156, parents died 2165, grandma died 2170, they were gonna put you in the system but you took your brother and ran. Wanted for at least thirteen known counts of larceny, eight counts of piracy, two counts for falsified weapons permits, four counts of illegally acquiring a transport vehicle, two counts of illegally acquiring a military transport vehicle, three for unruly behavior including one time where you got so drunk you broke a guy’s jaw so bad he can’t roll his r’s anymore. Collectively worth four hundred thousand notes, although separate, Mikey’s only worth a hundred thousand. Sorry, my friend.”

“You’re a bounty hunter,” Gerard said, and it hit him like a weight in the chest. Of course.

“The best,” Frank said, and smiled.

“What about the Thistle colonies?” Gerard asked.

“Mostly true, give or take ten years,” Frank said. “Like you said, it’s illegal to use your kids to pay off your debts. I was good at hiding then too. Getting to see them dragged off wasn’t exactly a bounty, but it did start a certain sense of satisfaction at the picture.”

“How did you find us? You weren’t on the ship when we got it,” Mikey said, gritting his teeth.

“Toro’s,” Frank said, and another weight landed in Gerard’s gut, oh god, someone else not to be trusted, but then it clicked, and rushed over him.

“The bar. You were at the bar,” Gerard said. “Sitting a few seats down.” Head down. Dark hair. Face hidden by his crossed arms. Of course. Of fucking _course_. Mikey had burst in, frantic, _she’s gone, they took her_. If he was a bounty hunter he’d have known them immediately.

“Now, enough of the catch-up, I’m done. Now, tell me,” he said, aiming the gun right at Mikey, “What you’re looking for.”

“My fiancee,” Mikey said, not even hesitating.

Frank paused. “What?”

“What?” Gerard said. “You proposed? When?”

“Last time we were at The Grit, and _yes_ I was going to tell you, but I was waiting until after the last job so I could get her a ring, okay,” Mikey said, sighing.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Gerard said.

“I don’t really think this is the time,” Mikey said. “And I can promise you can hold it against me later.”

“As is my right,” Gerard started, but Frank cut him off.

“Okay, _stop_ , no, seriously,” he said. “You’re not looking for, like--treasure, or another ship, or some mystical planet or something?”

“Alicia,” Mikey said again. “She was on a transport through this area and her ship disappeared. We’ve been looking for her. That transmission--”

“That transmission is a lie,” Frank said. “I recognize it. It’s a scalper ship. They know the serial code of your vessel, it was reported stolen the second you two blew out of that base. They’re trying to lure you in for the reward.”

“You’re full of shit,” Mikey snarled.

“Look, man, I just needed to know what you guys were after, so I could--”

“Take it for yourself and blame it on us?” Gerard asked.

“Of course,” Frank said, smiling again. “Gotta make a living.”

“You’re a fucking thief too, you fuck,” Mikey said, but Frank just shrugged.

“I’m not the one on the wanted posters though, am I,” he said. He glanced over towards the transport module again, and that was it, that was all Gerard needed. He moved, lunging for him, and hit him square in the chest with his shoulder. The gun went clattering to the ground and Gerard and Frank writhed, fighting it out, until Gerard ended up on top, pinning him to the ground.

“Quite a switch from last night, hrm,” Frank said, grinning, and there was blood on his teeth.

Mikey cocked the gun and pointed it right at Frank’s head. “Oh my god, did you guys seriously have sex last night,” he said. “ _Seriously_.”

“ _No_ ,” Gerard said, the same time as Frank grinned and crowed out a “ _Yes_!”

Mikey just glared at him. “We are so even for me not telling you about the engaged thing.”

“I can live with that,” Gerard said, and gripped Frank’s wrists tighter.

“So what do we do with him?” Mikey said, moving back around Frank, the gun still pointed at his face.

“Blow him out the airlock,” Gerard said, and immediately Frank writhed and bucked up.

“Wait, no,” he said, but Gerard had already grabbed him by the nape of the neck and was dragging him to the door of the cockpit, his boots scrambling on the grated floor.

“ _I know where she is_ ,” Frank gasped, and they all froze.

Mikey took two steps towards him and put the gun right against Frank’s cheek, so the barrel pressed hard against the bone. “If you are lying,” he said, and it was the quietest, sharpest thing Gerard had ever heard, “I will fucking rip you apart.”

Frank swallowed, and Gerard could see that his pulse point was thudding. “Look--okay, _fuck_ \-- I think I know who took her. They run through another quadrant, but close. I got a couple of them last time I was through here.”

Mikey got up and grabbed the grease pencil map, practically shoving it in his face. “Show me,” he said, and Frank pointed to a quadrant all the way off to the other side of the map. They’d never have hit it before they ran out of fuel.

“To _shreds_ ,” Mikey said, pressing the gun against his cheek again for emphasis. He went over and sank back into the chair, repositioning the controls to head them in the other direction.

Frank licked at the blood on his teeth, then turned his head and spat it onto the ground. “Guess you’re not going to just tie me to the kitchen chair again, huh,” he said.

“Oh, Frank,” Gerard said, grinning, practically giddy on a wave of adrenaline and finally, _finally_ moving towards something, even if it was the end, “If we’re doing this, you’re doing this too. From what it sounds like, they don’t like you much either, so your best bet is still to stick with us. At least until we get back.”

Frank thunked his head back on the floor. “I probably should have guessed that.”

“You and me both,” Gerard said, and moved to cuff him to the back table.

*

“That’s it,” Mikey said, awed. “That’s where the signal’s coming from.”

“I _told_ you,” said Frank, yawning. “They take over transport vehicles in his area, rob all the passengers, and then pretty much milk it for all that it’s worth before they just sort of jettison it into space. They don’t like killing anybody because it gets them noticed straightaway, but as soon as they send those ships off the people never come home. And if anybody ever finds them empty or full of corpses, they just blame it on engine failure or something. They’re probably in the middle of plying it for scraps and shit.”

“That is some messed up shit,” Mikey said, and punched in the new coordinates to quietly move the ship closer.

Gerard stared straight ahead at the star map, not really even seeing. Now that they weren’t on a race to nowhere, and had an end goal one way or the other, his heart was catching up with everything that had just happened. Frank had lied to him. _Really_ lied to him, and just about completely fucked him over.

But why had he showed up at Gerard’s room that night? It didn’t make any fucking _sense_.

“I got ‘em locked,” Mikey said. “I hope you guys are ready to do this.”

“Fuckin’ ready,” Frank said, and jangled his cuff against the metal bar. Gerard just stared quietly ahead. One way or another, something was going to end now. It was almost a relief.

*

“I can’t believe you just docked like that,” Frank said, “that is some fucking _skill_.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mikey said, “now shut up.”

“Both of you, _shut_ it,” Gerard said, motioning to hold them back. He and Mikey had pretty much perfected the silent board, but the Joes' ship was bigger than what they were used to, and there was no telling if they’d actually come in under the radar.

It was definitely one of the commercial transport ships, though. The signs didn’t look good. There were lights out all along the corridor and it _smelled_ old, like stale air.

“Look,” Gerard said, looking back over his shoulder to face them, “We have to split up. Mikey, you go find Alicia--at this point, if she’s here, they’re going to be sluggish, and they’re not expecting anyone to come. Frank, you’re with me. We have to take the cockpit.”

“What? Why?” Frank asked. “I don’t even have a gun!”

“So don’t get yourself shot,” Gerard said, rolling his eyes. “We have to take the ship. If there are other people here we can’t just leave them behind.”

Mikey nodded. “I’ll be back in an hour. And you,” he said, turning to Frank.

“To _shreds_ , I know, I know, Jesus,” Frank said, and Mikey just nodded. He checked over his shoulder and then disappeared down the hallway, gun at the ready.

Gerard watched him until he was gone and then led the way down the hallway in the opposite direction. If there were hostages here they were probably keeping them in the cargo bay, for easier control. Mikey should be able to wire the circuits, lock it down, he was a whiz at that. Gerard was better at taking aim.

They crept through the corridors silently, backs pressed up against the cold metal. It was hard to concentrate, with Frank behind him, calculating and cataloging his every move, but Frank stayed close and silent. It wasn’t until they’d hit two levels up that they actually saw any motion, and Gerard shoved them back around the corner just in time.

There were three of them. Nasty, ugly looking fucks, bored out of their minds. Gerard checked his gun. Fully charged, on, ready to go. He took a deep breath. Okay.

_One. Two. Three._

*

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank said, when they came around the corner. “Did you seriously just take them all out with one shot apiece?”

“I’m not worth three hundred thousand bank notes just for my pretty face,” Gerard said, keeping a quick pace down the hall and around the next corridor.

“It _is_ a really pretty face, though,” Frank said, and Gerard froze so fast Frank almost ran into his back.

“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you,” Gerard said, turning around. “You don’t have to keep that up.”

“Keep _what_ up,” Frank said.

“ _Now_ you’re playing dumb?” Gerard said, and kept moving down the hall.

“Look, no, it’s not--I never, _fuck_ ,” Frank said, sounding frustrated. “I didn’t _not_ want to fuck you, I mean, hello, those locks were fucking tough, I had to really want to bust out of that mainframe shit to show up at your door--”

“I _knew_ I’d locked that son of a bitch,” Gerard said, not turning back.

“--but, you know, business is business,” Frank said.

Gerard shoved Frank back right as a shot whizzed by their faces. “Fuck,” Frank breathed, but Gerard dropped to the ground and pulled Frank down with him.

“You stupid fuck,” Gerard hissed, darting a look around the corner, two guys, this time, high alert. They’d seen them, but they were still dumb, ugly fucks. “I would have thought that if you’d learned _anything_ from your little adventure with us over the past few cycles, it’s that business--”

He leaned out, quick as anything-- _One. Two._

He got to his feet and grabbed Frank’s wrist, yanking him back up and around the corner. “--is _always_ fucking personal. To the end.”

Frank stared at the dead bodies, dazed. Gerard had to pull him along to keep him up to speed. He was so fucking glad he’d gotten the new gun, though, several rounds down and it was barely making a hum. He could do this. They were so close.

*

It took several more floors and a couple dozen more carefully planned shots before they got to the front of the ship. There were more lights, more guards, but Gerard took them all out. He didn’t hear any alarms, yet, which was good, it meant that both he and Mikey were still hidden.

They paused, just around the final corner before the main hall. Crowded. Gerard could hear the guards talking, murmuring to one another. Guns slung low, hitting lazily against their belts. Not ready. Not prepared. There were so many of them, though. Over a dozen, at least. Gerard exhaled carefully, collecting himself. He just had to give Mikey some time. He could work something out. It was time. One more breath and--

“Gerard,” Frank said, barely a whisper. Gerard almost jumped out of skin.

“Fucking _what_ ,” he hissed, turning back to look at Frank.

Frank was staring up at him in the dark of the hallway, eyes intent. “Why did you come on this mission?”

“What?” Gerard said. He didn’t have time for this.

“I heard you, back in the bar. You knew this was suicide even before you left Toro’s, but you went immediately. Why the fuck would you do that?” Frank asked.

“He’s my _brother_ ,” Gerard said, because that was all the answer, every time.

“But--” Frank started, but Gerard cut him off.

“Is there anything in this world that you would fucking die for, Frank?” Gerard asked. “That you love enough to kill for? Your family was a piece of shit, and I’m real sorry about that, but it’s the only way to survive out here. You gotta have something. Someone. Or there’s no point and we should all just fucking blow ourselves out the airlock, save the universe the trouble.”

Frank was quiet, watching his face. Gerard turned back to check--the guards hadn’t heard them whispering. Good.

“Wait here,” he spat over his shoulder, and stepped out into the room.

*

He’d been so close. He should have remembered that there was always something to fuck things up. In this case, though, it was the one guy who’d been in the room off to the side when Gerard was doing his head count.

“Fuck,” Gerard hissed, hitting the floor, “ _fuck_.” They’d hit his arm. His good arm, _fuck_. He crouched behind the flipped table as shots rang off the metal on the other side. He’d gotten most of them, and he knew they didn’t know what they’d scored.

He tried to flex his arm and almost cried out from the pain. Useless, fuck. He just hoped Mikey’d found her, that if they couldn’t get everybody out then at least they’d make it back, they’d be okay--

He looked up and caught Frank’s eyes, where he was still hidden in the shadows of the extended corridor. He was staring at Gerard, pale as anything, hands splayed flat against the floor.

Gerard knew what he was going to do before he even moved, and he couldn’t even call out to stop him before Frank was up and into the room, sliding through the shots to slam against the wall next to Gerard.

“Hi again,” Frank wheezed.

“What the fuck,” Gerard managed, gritting his teeth.

Frank grabbed Gerard’s gun out of his crippled hand and checked it over, glanced at the levels. “Okay, yeah, look, I’m an asshole, I get that, but if I gotta have somebody, I’m at least going to make it somebody who talks about love all noble and shit before taking down a dozen sons of bitches with direct headshots,” he said.

Gerard just stared at him. “I don’t--”

“Don’t _you_ play dumb, you fuck,” Frank said, cutting him off, “‘cause I’m not repeating it again.”

He jumped up and fired off two shots, three. Gerard shook himself and got back on his knees. He’d--he’d deal with whatever that was later. The door to the cockpit was open, he would see, and... there was no one inside. It wasn’t possible.

“Got him!” Frank crowed, and the last guy in the room slumped down to the ground, sprawled out across the grating.

Gerard was up in a flash and he grabbed his gun back from Frank. Fuck, he hated using his left hand.

“Come on,” he said, staring to move, still sticking to the walls, and Frank followed right behind, breathing heavy, practically ecstatic.

There was a moment, right when they got to the door, where Gerard thought that it might just, after all of that time, be so perfectly easy. Of course not. It never was.

“Freeze,” someone said, right off to the left of the door. Gerard had checked the right first-- wrong choice. He wanted to sigh, but he held it in, held his breath.

“Drop the gun,” he said, and Gerard tossed it down.

“Move,” he said, and Gerard backed out of the cockpit--he almost froze at the realization that Frank wasn’t right behind him, hadn’t followed him in--the guy hadn’t seen both of them. Frank was still outside.

He was behind the open door, watching Gerard’s face, and Gerard wanted to look at him, tell him not to fucking move, but he just kept his palms up and backed slowly out of the door.

“Who the fuck are _you_ ,” the guy snarled, pointing the gun at Gerard’s face.

“Frank. Who the fuck are _you_ ,” Frank snarled, and blindsided the guy with a punch to the back of the head. The guy dropped to his knees and then hit the floor, and as soon as he was down Frank kicked the gun away until it clanged against the wall.

“I think that went rather well,” Frank said lightly.

“You are crazy,” Gerard said. “Legitimately crazy.”

Frank just shrugged. “Looks like it worked to me.”

Gerard just rolled his eyes and bounded up the stairs into the cockpit, picking up his gun along the way. There were no alarms triggered. They’d done it. They’d made it. He set the coordinates in the console to take them back to The Grit and couldn’t help but grin as the computer whirred as it processed and made the changes. Yes. Finally. _Finally_.

“Hey Frank!” he called out, sticking his head out the cockpit, “it looks like it worked to me too.”

Frank grinned up at him, wide and dangerous but bright, the dark from around his eyes gone. Something shifted behind Frank, rose up, and Gerard was distracted for half a second too long to call out a warning. Frank’s back was turned. No. _No_.

The guy from before--the pilot, the _fuck_ \--staggered to his feet and wrapped an arm around Frank, and at first it looked like he was going to pull him down, to fight, but Frank gasped and Gerard could hear something rip, something wet.

 _One._ and the guy went down, shot through the head.

“Frank!” Gerard called, running over to him, sliding to his knees.

“A _knife_ ,” Frank wheezed. “Who the fuck uses _knives_ anymore? How lame is _that_?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gerard said, pressing his hands to the wound. Right in the stomach, fuck, god dammit. His shirt was already soaked. Gerard shrugged his jacket off immediately and tore out the lining, using it to press against Frank’s belly. “Frank, man, you gotta hold on to this with me,” he said. His wounded arm was practically useless, he couldn’t apply enough pressure.

“I got this, I got this,” Frank said, a little too blearily. “Hey, so, you know how you don’t usually apologize? I don’t either, ‘cause, you know, not really sorry, and everything, but---“

“If you apologize to me right now I will not accept your apology,” Gerard said. “You can’t do that now. I refuse. I will punch you in the face first.”

Frank laughed, and it was wet. Gerard winced. Fuck, _fuck_. They had cycles and cycles to go before they made it back to The Grit. He couldn’t--

“I stole that book,” Frank said.

“What?” Gerard said. What book? Who cared about books?

“The one, the garden one. You said you were keeping it--for someone, and I got weird, and I took it,” Frank said, head rolling on the ground. “It’s in my pocket.”

“You are the worst at showing affection,” Gerard said. “The worst.”

“Yeah, well,” Frank said, “that’s what got me here in the first place,” and it was good, he was being an asshole, cracking jokes, but then that was it, he went silent.

“Fuck, no, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Gerard said, shaking him a little. “You stupid fuck, _no_ ,” but there was nothing. He looked desperately around the room, but everyone else was dead--Frank wasn’t dead, Frank was an _asshole_ , and Gerard didn’t let assholes get the better of him. Not like this.

He tried to pick Frank up, to carry him, but his arm was still hurt, too weak to do anything, useless. He sat back on his heels and pressed his hands to Frank’s stomach, blood soaking everything.

“Gerard!” someone cried, but it wasn’t Mikey, it wasn’t, it was--

“Alicia!” Gerard gasped, and he felt his whole body almost collapse with the sheer, overwhelming relief of it--there she was, right in front of him--beautiful as ever, and whole, if a little thinner and dirtier than the last time they’d met, and Mikey was there, a hand on her arm. Whole and safe and sound.

“Good,” Gerard said. “Okay.”

He felt the black pull in at him, like it always did, but this time was different--he let it, this time, let the space take away all the noise until there was nothing.

*

When Gerard opened his eyes it wasn’t to black, it was to white--polished, clean white. _Heaven_ , his brain said. _Hospital, you dumb fuck_ , his brain corrected a second later.

Gerard moaned a little and sat up. The sick bay. They must still be on the ship. He was still in most of his clothes, although his blood-stained shirt was gone. He looked over and--Frank was there, lying in the next bed over, staring at him. He was shirtless, but bandaged, and _alive_.

“You look like shit,” Gerard said.

Frank just laughed, and then looked like it pained him. “Chicks dig scars. Especially knife scars. This was my plan all along,” he just said, waving a hand weakly.

Gerard couldn’t help it. Something inside of him just--loosened. Frank was alive. Alicia was alive. They’d won. They’d done it. They were going back. Home. Wherever the fuck that was. He didn’t even fucking _care_.

Gerard laughed, and flopped back on the bed, staring back up at the ceiling. Yeah, at that point, it was pretty close to heaven. He’d take it.

*

“Oh my God,” Alicia said, and hugged him so hard he had to lift her until her toes were off the ground.

“Hey, lady,” he said, and they both clung a little tighter. When they both pulled back her eyes were wet, but she ignored it, so Gerard did too.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Mikey was off in the main bay with some of the other passengers, still dealing with the clean-up from their takeover, but she kept her voice low anyway.

“You don’t have to--” he said, but she shook her head.

“Mikey said he wouldn’t have found me without you,” she said, and Gerard just hugged her again. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

Gerard didn’t have anything to say to that, really, so he just did the best he could. “Always.”

*

The next few cycles passed quickly, faster than anything Gerard could count on the journey there. The other passengers were dazed, but thankful, and they kept the ship running and full of laughter and conversation the whole way back. Gerard just sat with them, sometimes, listening to them talk, tell old jokes, like he could soak up all the good noise right into his skin.

Sometimes, though, when there were too many people, he’d sneak away to one of the upper levels, where they’d put the viewing deck in for passengers to visit. It was almost all glass, all the way around, and if you stood on the edge it was almost like being right in the middle of it. Of everything and nothing.

“Aren’t you tired of looking at it yet?” Frank said from behind him. Gerard smiled a little.

“A little. Sometimes,” he said.

Frank moved gingerly to stand next to him. He still couldn’t move very fast, and spent most of his time sleeping in the sick bay, but he was there. Alive.

Frank pressed his hands up against the glass, staring out into it. He breathed on the glass until it fogged up, then wiped it away with his palm.

“Hey, so, listen,” Frank said, “I feel weird about this, so--” he said, and dug in his pocket for something. It was the book. The little garden book.

“Oh,” Gerard said, gently flipping it over in his palms. “It’s--it’s Alicia’s. Mikey got it for her, and I kind of, borrowed it. For a while.”

“Once a thief,” Frank sighed.

Gerard wanted to snark back, but he was in too good of a mood, so he let it lie. “So, Frank,” he said. “I was thinking.”

Frank was quiet, watching him. It was strange, up on the deck - there were hardly any lights, just enough to guide the path of anyone walking through, so it was mostly just blackness and stars. Frank was almost all shadow.

“What are you doing after this?” Gerard said. “When we get back to The Grit.”

Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well,” Gerard said. “I was listening to some of the news transmissions that have been coming in, and, well, there was a report that Brunhill was running a racket over in the 68th Sector, and that guy’s worth like, jeez, _six_ hundred thousand all by his lonesome--”

“Are you trying to send me away?” Frank asked, staring ahead. “Because it’s not going to work. I told you. I picked my somebody.”

Gerard reeled a little at that. “Frank, you can’t just-–“

But Frank found a way to make Gerard shut up, at least temporarily, and leaned in and kissed him. Gerard gasped, momentarily surprised, but then opened up for him immediately. He pulled Frank in closer with his hands in his hair, yanking a little, just as Frank wrapped his arms around him, and they ended up pressed against the glass. Gerard’s skin prickled with the cold and Frank just arched into him, pressing harder.

Frank pulled back first, though, and something in Gerard’s gut dipped. Frank looked like he was thinking about something. “If we get Brunhill together, I’ll split it with you fifty-fifty,” he said, completely serious. “I mean, if Mikey’s coming with, we could do thirty-three all around, but I was thinking with the wedding and everything he might want to take some time off, you know-–“

“Shut _up_ ,” Gerard said, and kissed him again, and Frank did. The room was empty, with nothing but space and glass and stars and all the black around them, but it felt crowded, and full, and _warm_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Might I Have A Bit of Earth, by theopteryx](https://archiveofourown.org/works/728953) by [shiningartifact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningartifact/pseuds/shiningartifact)




End file.
